


The Good Man and His Slave

by Ytrepthru



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytrepthru/pseuds/Ytrepthru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ayas, the Lone Wanderer, has been making a name for himself over the wastes for some time. One day, he comes across Underworld, and meets a ghoul named Charon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> I have a hard time writing things like this sometimes; my brain operates more cinematically than literarily, so while I can vividly put a story together, converting it into words can be an irritation.
> 
> Still, here it is, my first Fallout fic attempt, inspired (but not derived from) the Tate and Butch series by ImperfectKries. The fantastic writing there drove me to put my own digital ink to digital paper.
> 
> I shouldn't brag about this, but I don't do too much editing and refining. I obviously try to avoid the big literary flaws and grievances, but I feel like the way I write is better raw, and becomes more artificial if I try refining it too much.

Blood oozed down the side of his mouth, puddling in a thick crease in the grungy leather clothing he wore, or to be more accurate, was made to wear. The puffy purple skin around his eye screeched out a wretched symphony of pain as he slowly looked upward towards the man who had beaten him so many times in the past 5 years since he’s fifteenth birthday. The man who’d killed him a thousand times and brought him back a thousand more, making sure he knew who to be grateful towards each time. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth as if he was drowning in it, and he would drown in it. He’d gladly drown in it because he knew what the alternative was.

 

“Spit that goddamn blood out of your mouth, you disgusting little faggot!”

 

Finally, his dry, cracked, scarred lips parted, a river of bright red oozing slowly from the freshly opened channel. The mixture of saliva made the red stick to his face even more, as fresh glistening stalactites of life essence held firmly to his chin.

 

It was on this day, in this basement dungeon, that the young man was finally broken beyond repair. It was on this day that he finally understood how useless he was, how disgusting he was, and how ugly he was. He was the shit on the sidewalk that stuck to a better man's shoe; he deserved no better treatment that being scraped off that beautiful shoe, and told that he’d never be worthy of that shoe. It was on this day that he became a true slave.

 

It was on this day that the bombs fell, and he watched his master die. It was on this day that he became a slave without a master. It was on this day that an eternity of hell began. It was on this day, that Charon stopped being human.

 

* * *

 

His name was Ayas, apparently. He introduced himself with a weird smile and a friendly gesture; the smile wasn’t weird in any specific way, simply weird because smiles were something Charon had never seen on anyone capable of surviving in the wastes. This was especially true in The Mall, where super mutants made short work of anyone even relatively competent. In this world, a smile was an idiotically self-applied “kick me” sign; and yet someone who’d killed half a dozen mutants, survived hordes of raiders – and many far worse things judging by the humongous cache of loot he sold to any ghoul interested – was giving away smiles freely. Was this a breath of fresh air? Charon made a mental note to verify his feelings later when he and Azrukhal were alone. For now, he had a command to follow.

 

“Talk to Azrukhal.” Ayas irritatingly interjected but Charon wouldn't let him have a chance, “no. Talk to Azrukhal.”

 

Ayas tilted his head slightly, and showed that weird smile once more. He nodded and made a mini-bow of silent apology, and turned to speak to the ghoul’s ghoul master. Charon couldn’t understand their conversation, but he didn’t really want to understand it. People, no matter how polite and kind they seemed, tended to not talk to Azrukhal about good things. They asked for favours and chances to do things to Charon that he didn’t like. What choice did he have in the matter? He had to agree to anything Azrukhal told him to do.

 

Once, just once, in a moment of blind and stupid desperation, Charon had begged to not do the horrible thing asked of him. He got on his knees and cried as much as a ghoul could, and begged to not have to do what Dukov wanted him to do. Azrukhal, in his infinite mercy, has responded to this disgusting display by slowly and painfully removing the remaining flesh from Charon’s jaw and cheeks, stuffing it in his mouth, and forcing Charon to chew it slowly and swallow it. It was a fair punishment.

 

The conversation was apparently over, and Ayas walked by Charon as he approached the exit to The Ninthy Circle. Ayas stopped briefly and whispered something in a soft voice. The door closed behind him and Charon felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Well, the phantom hair on the back of his neck, at any rate.

 

Several days passed since this initial encounter. Ayas had lots of work to do in The Mall, and enjoyed the company of the ghouls, so his face was one that became familiar. Charon was told never to move unless instructed to, so he never smiled or spoke when Ayas came into The Ninth Circle to sell wares he’d picked off the corpses of Super Mutants, or have the odd whiskey. He smiled inside, though. He smiled in the sense of getting a warm comfortable feeling whenever that smile appeared. It wasn’t weakness, he decided; it was bravery. The bravery of a man so confident in his abilities and self and the potential in others that he had no need to hide his kindness or put on a front. It was the mark of a man who was a real man.

 

Charon thought about the day when Ayas had whispered to him. Azrukhal had never noticed the exchange, or at least didn’t think much of it. It was good, because what Ayas said could never be reported to Azrukhal without Charon getting the one order he was already considering disobeying. Considering. Not the same as actually doing, and that was why he hated himself.

 

* * *

 

“You want to buy his contract? That stupid thug is too valuable to me!”

 

Charon flinched. This was Azrukhal angry. His voice raised and rasped, but his body was still. No flourishes, no threats. Just an angry statue of rotting flesh.

 

“I can make it worth your while. You don’t think I was selling all that loot for your stale booze, did you?” Those were fighting words if ever he heard any spoken, “Here’s one thousand caps for the contract. With that much you could hire a damn super mutant to do your dirty work.”

 

Charon watched tentatively. There was no way he’d sell, surely? Azrukhal’s face distorted as he held an inner conference with the demented evil voices in his head. Charon wished he could grab the trigger, aim, and just do what had to be done. He wished it so hard it hurt worse than eating his own skin; but he couldn’t do it. His finger never even jittered.

 

“It’s a deal, you smoothskin freak. Give me those caps and take that loser out of here; he cramped my style one too many times anyway.”

 

A miracle surely had occurred. Charon had to find out who granted wishes in the wasteland and thank them one day. He stared intensely at Ayas as the young man approached, stained paper in hand.

 

“This is really fucked up to say, but I appear to own,” Charon detected a note of mental vomit when that word escaped Ayas’ lips, “you now. Um, come with me, I guess.”

 

Charon wanted to do so much in this moment, but he couldn’t Not without an order. This, though…This did not need an order.

 

“Just let me take care of one little piece of business, first.” Charon said with determination dripping from every syllable.

 

He walked up to Azrukhal until they were face to face. Azrukhal looked simultaneous irritated and intrigued by this new show of force. The sickening sneer on his lips was something he’d seen too many times.

 

“Saying goodbye to daddy, are you, Charon? Guess what? Daddy never loved you.”

 

“Ayas whispered something to me the first day he came here. I’m ensuring it doesn’t come true.” Charon said determinedly.

 

“Oh, and what was that?” Azrukhal spat with sarcasm poisoning his speech.

 

“He said, ‘I’m going to kill your master one day.’ I’m not going to let that happen.”

 

“How very noble of y-“

 

“Because it’s my motherfucking job.”

 

And with that final utterance, Charon pointed his shotgun at Azrukhal’s face and pulled the trigger. It was a lucky shot. One bullet out, one bullet in, one asshole out. Charon abandoned the body and approached Ayas. He never knew it, but he looked so much calmer and almost happier in this one moment.

 

“I told you so,” Ayas mumbled with a smirk, “I killed him without even firing a shot. Come on, let’s get out of here before someone decides to be offended by this.”

 

Charon thought about what Ayas said, almost shocked to realize the boy was right. He had done it. His actions had all lead to Azrukhal’s death. He was unsure whether this boy was clever or evil right now. Did it matter? At the end of the day, anyone was better than Azrukhal.

 

This was the day that Charon fought back and won. This was the day Charon lost his master. This was the day Charon became the slave of a good man. This was the day his life would start a journey to hell.


	2. Grateful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly formed duo make a journey out of the mall and to the Jefferson Memorial. Charon wonders exactly what he's gotten into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A semi-direct continuation of the last chapter. I wrote this as I actually went through the memorial for the first time (I discovered Vault 112 a little too early in my previous save) So I think there's more intensity here than I normally write.

                Ayas had logged many potential tasks on his pipboy, but oddly enough had chosen to explore the Jefferson Memorial first and foremost. It wasn’t exactly odd on its own, but odd in that it precluded several other tasks that could have been completed within the vicinity he and Charon had been in. Still, Charon was a slave, not one to ask questions or second guess his master. He considered the conversation he and Ayas had had shortly after leaving Underworld. It still made him feel weird to consider it and the proposition Ayas had made. This was who he was. This was who he’d always be.

 

                It took a week to reach the Jefferson Memorial, after stopping off in Rivet City to rest. There was the usual fare of super mutants to eliminate, and between Ayas’ skills and Charon’s shotgun, they were surprisingly easy to pick through. They made their way down the large ornate hallway with few injuries, and covered mostly in blood that wasn’t their own. Charon enjoyed the warfare, and Ayas seemed to enjoy it too. This was actually the oddity of the situation. Ayas was sweet, optimistic, a joker, and almost bizarrely innocent. Not only was he incongruous to the Wasteland, but totally incomprehensible as being so childlike while simultaneously being such a vicious and unforgiving warrior.

 

After clearing out immediate threats, Ayas’ demeanor changed instantly. His narrowed wrinkled eyes widened and smoothed, and a smile slashed his face open. He softly put his hand on Charon’s arm and started to lead him.

 

                “They have a gift shop here! I love a gift shop! We’ve got to check it out!”

 

And his oddity continued in the gift shop as well. Charon watched in bemused silence as Ayas hopped about the tiny room, looking at the very few intact trinkets sprawled about the room. The snow globe especially seemed to interest him. Funny how these things Charon still considered commonplace and kitsch were so fascinating to these young inexperienced people of the Wastes. Had Ayas actually ever seen snow? Charon himself couldn’t think of the last time he saw proper snow. He’d heard tales of the rad-ice fields in Alaska when he was with his previous master. Large sheets of frozen irradiated water. Some lakes were so heavily irradiated that at nighttime they glowed and shimmered. It sounded beautiful.

 

Ayas’ smile faded slightly and he put down the snow globe on the counter. Sitting in a singed rusty chair, he tilted his head slowly, eyes meeting Charon’s before his face faced his.

 

                “Do…do you like talking about your condition? Not ‘like’ like, but I mean – well, I mean I just had a question about it.”

 

The awkwardness was almost cute. Almost. Charon rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette out of one of his many pockets, and a lighter from another. As he lit it, he spoke in thick mumbles.

 

                “I like talking about it as much as I like stuttering, so spit it out, smoothie.”

 

                “I just wondered if you ever had a moment when you were actually grateful for it?”

 

A long pause ensued. It felt painful, but Charon could not answer this question; it was too embarrassing and out of character for him. He weighed a thousand options in his head; seventeen of which involved killing Ayas there and then. Ultimately he decided on one previous masters would have hurt him deeply for: changing the subject.

 

                “Why are we here, anyway, smoothie?” He stubbed his cigarette out on the wall, and pushing his body off of it to hopefully indicate his desire to get moving. “you just wanted to be a tourist or something?”

 

Ayas understood the deflection and played along. He lifted himself up off the chair he’d sat in and spoke quietly, “Well, there’s a man I’m supposed to find. He’s most likely here. It’ll be an easy task, in and out, then we can have some real fun.”

 

That promise seemed odd, but Charon accepted it. Silent once more, they exited the gift shop and made their way through the doors that lead deeper into the Memorial. Suddenly, Ayas stopped in his tracks. A weariness came over him as his eyes focused on something. Charon couldn’t tell what, but he realized it was some piece of tech. A thick metal body with two tubes sticking out of it.

 

                “A few months ago,” Ayas started, distant and almost to himself, “I went to this town called Grayditch. There was a scientist there who’d discovered a ‘forced evolution’ virus that he planned to use to manipulated the mutated life of the wastes back into their pre-war conditions. It went horribly wrong. I heard through other people that this virus was used in the old days to make super soldiers to fight for the country in the war.”

 

Ayas bent forward, standing on his toes with knees bent, his torso pressed against his thighs. He reached out with one hand to touch one of the tubes on this device.

 

                “The virus was in a tube system just like this. A horrible thing of great power; even good intentions couldn’t keep it from doing evil. I had to destroy that scientist’s sample. But seeing it here, among these super mutants, I wonder why…”

 

Without finishing his thought, Ayas whipped out his laser pistol and shot the device again and again and again until the glass melted, any contents remaining inside burst into flames, and the mechanical portion sparked and exploded. The glassy look in his eyes spoke volumes. Then, as if someone had spliced two independent scenes together, he was smiling and looking at Charon again.

 

                “Let’s keep moving. There should be something in that room over there.”

 

Charon was confused by this weird little existence. In a good way, though.

 

The room they entered was much cleaner and newer than the rest of the Memorial. There was a smooth and high-tech construction in the middle. It might have been prettier before they smashed the corpses of freshly killed super mutants into it, but Charon wasn’t exactly very conscious of what was considered stylish and pretty. After killing the immediate threats, the two of them scoured the area for anything useful. Charon came across three Holotapes. They had something to do with this thing called “Project Purity”. It sounded ridiculous, like abstinence clubs. He figured the right thing to do was to give them to Ayas anyway.

 

                “Hey, Smoothie, I found these. Might be important. Might help you find your victim or whatever.”

 

Ayas looked at them, twitching slightly at something. He nodded silently and put them in his pocket without playing them.

 

                “We need to find the other ones first. No point in the sequel without the original.”

 

They returned to the main halls of the Memorial, and after nearly getting pummeled by a surprisingly stealthy Super Mutant, Ayas discovered another door, and in they went; this one lead to a basement that – again – looked way more recent and high-tech than anything surrounding it. The sounds of their footsteps became loud and shocking, impossible to silence as they echoed across the metal floors and walls. The attacks were more regular now, a painfully deafening boom as each super mutant they met shouted angrily at their presence and announced its burning desire to kill them and use their corpses as a toy. Most only had sledgehammers, so it was easy to evade them and kill them. Stepping over the corpses, Ayas turned to Charon to gesture him on. Charon saw what Ayas didn’t. A super mutant approached behind Ayas, sledgehammer at the ready. Charon lifted his shotgun, aimed and fired. It was a good shot, but not fast enough. There was a disgusting sound as the huge head of the weapon came down on Ayas’ right shoulder, tearing flesh, bruising muscle, and ripping the joint out of its socket. It was only after this, that the bullet entered the mutant’s eye, travelled his tiny brain, and came out the other end, removing two thirds of his head with it.

 

Charon panicked – something he didn’t fully understand at the moment, or for a long time afterwards – and ran to grab Ayas before he fell, having become unconscious from the pain. He swung Ayas’ left arm over his shoulder and carried the boy with him as he searched frantically for a secure and safe room for them to hide in. Luckily, not too far from this super mutant, there was an electric door that still worked. Charon opened it and found a very clean room with chairs and beds and some fairly good medical and scientific equipment in it. He sealed the door behind them, and carefully put Ayas down in the bed. Over the many raider masters he’d had, resetting bones like this had become a common and easily remembered task. It was just as well Ayas was unconscious, because Charon did not want to ask permission for what he was about to do. He firmly wrapped one hand around Ayas’ upper arm, and the other against his shoulder and collar bone. With firm unrestricted movement, he pushed the arm back into place. The horrible sound was muffled somewhat by what came almost simultaneous with it.                                 “Holy motherfucking god of the multiverse!” Ayas screamed, his eyes shooting open and his whole body tensing up as he reacted uncontrollably to the pain.

 

Charon was silent as raspy heavy breaths came out of Ayas for a few seconds. Then, there was calm. His eyes stayed wide, but in their friendly way, and the face became blank.

 

                “What happened? Was I out?” Ayas asked with genuine curiousity.

 

                “A super mutant tried to take your arm off. I just put it back in. Take your shirt off, I need to examine the skin.”

 

                “Are you giving me orders,” Ayas asked cheekily, while still complying to Charon’s request, removing the shirt to reveal his thin wiry but adequately muscled body, “surely that goes against your contract in some way.”

 

                “The well-being of my master is important, and in emergencies takes precedent over all else.”

 

They were silent while Charon procured a thread and needle from one of his pockets. Using his lighter to disinfect the needle, he quickly threaded it and began sewing up a five inch tear above Ayas’ shoulder. Aside from a wince every time the needle pierced flesh, Ayas was silent. This lasted ten minutes, and then Charon bit the thread and tied it off. Ayas smiled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ but sound barely came out.

 

                “Can you move it alright?” Charon acked, trying to sound less concerned than he was.

 

                “I think so,” Ayas mumbled while maneuvering his arm to and fro, making sure not to over-exert it and re-open anything.

 

He leaned back in the fairly clean bed and sighed. Tilting his head to look at Charon, his mouth opened to say something, but then he froze and his gaze travelled. Charon turned to look behind him and saw what had caught the boy’s eyes. A huge stack of holotapes.

 

                “Bring those over here, Charon. I can listen to them on my pipboy.”

 

Charon got up and gathered the little pile of tapes, shuffling through them as he made his way back to the bed. He sat down and handed a neat ordered stack to Ayas.

 

                “There’s still some missing, but we’ve got the early ones now.”

 

                “That’s fine,” Ayas said, smiling as he popped one into his pipboy and set up the play-back programme, “Better to have missing episodes than no beginning.”

 

He pressed play and they became silent again, listening to the crackling recording.

 

“Well, here we are again. Project Purity again…”

 

Charon thought the voice sounded familiar. Was it someone from his past? No, couldn’t be. This was a vault kid. Charon’s eyes trailed from the pipboy to Ayas’ face. His eyes had narrowed and clouded, the smile had faded and almost turned into a frown. Charon had seen him stern, determined, even animalistic, but this was some different demon appearing on his face. Was this sorrow?

 

                “I left all this behind to make a better life for my son. We’ve spent all this time in vault 101.”

 

And the penny dropped. Charon realized it all too quickly, but not quickly enough. Ayas was the son of this man. The man Ayas was so crazily intent on finding wasn’t some hit, some caps-provider, or anything other than his very own father.

 

                “He doesn’t need his daddy anymore.”

 

                “Fuck you, “Ayas suddenly spat, tears forming in his eyes, his lips quivering, and veins bulging from his neck, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you, just goddamned fucking fuck you!”

 

Charon was overwhelmed by this sudden outpouring. Should he comfort? Ignore? Reprimand? In his 200 years as a slave this was not an issue he’d ever come across. He had only seconds to assume the right action to take.

 

                “I’m sorry,” Ayas mumbled, interrupting Charon’s train of thought which had already derailed, fell off the cliff, and landed into a pile of molten burning rubbish, “I should have been totally honest with you, Charon. I’m looking for my father. He left vault 101 without me, and I was in danger, so I had to leave as well. He’s the only remnant of my past I can ever turn to again in my life. I just need to find him.

 

“Charon, can you,” Ayas looked up, his eyes wide and teary, his lips parted slightly, showing teeth that chattered with nervousness, “can you forgive me for hiding this?”

 

Charon should have said so many things. He knew this, deep within a tiny recess of his mind where a real person still existed. But it was such a tiny part of him, in a labyrinth of decades, even centuries of being told he was so much less than a person. So he didn’t really feel the disappointment he knew he should have when he finally responded.

 

                “It’s not my place to know anything you don’t wish me to know. I accept anything you tell me, and accept anything I’m not supposed to know as unnecessary.”

 

                “You’re still just a slave at heart, aren’t you?” Ayas mumbled with all the disappointment Charon wanted to feel and then some more.

 

He wiped his eyes, and put in the next holotape. Then the next, then the next, and the next. They learned where James had gone, and Ayas even realized he’d accidentally stumbled across the place much earlier in his travels. The final tape had its old title scratched out, and a newly written one said “better days”. Ayas didn’t play this one. He didn’t even take it. He left it on the table as he left the room and the Memorial; or he thought he did. Charon stared at the tape and could feel it needed to be heard. He knew Ayas wanted to hear it deep down; he’d just been overwhelmed by everything thus far. Charon picked up the holotape, and slid it into one of his empty pockets. It was the first act of rebellion he’d performed in so very long, and as he realized this, his mind shifted to what Ayas had said to him when they left Underworld.

 

                “I’ll keep you as my slave as long as you want, but I want to make you my friend, Charon. I want you to be here because you want to be here, so rebel. As comfortably as you can, rebel. Say no, do something I don’t tell you to, question my decisions. You are your own person; it’s time you remembered that.”

 

This was the day Charon realized how grateful he was to have met Ayas.


	3. Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to GNR, discoveries are made...

                Charon presumed they’d head to Vault 112 as soon as possible, but Ayas was not at all interested in this. He seemed somewhat drained from the experiences in the Jefferson Memorial. As weird as it may be, the random tasks he did for other people seemed to be more invigorating and positive to him than the things he did for his own gain. Ayas scrolled absentmindedly through the many notes he’d jotted down in his PipBoy, and suddenly stopped, and stared into the emptiness ahead of him.

 

                                “I never visited GNR Station, actually,” Ayas muttered to no one in particular, “I was meant to, but I ended up finding out stuff at Rivet City instead. I never actually went to GNR. We should go, Charon.”

 

                                “If you got the information you needed elsewhere, why go to GNR now?” Charon queried, somewhat more comfortable with asking questions than he normally was.

 

                Truth be told, it wasn’t that comfortable, and even worse, it was a bit of a lie. Charon hated it, but in his twisted mind, it was important to do these acts of rebellion not because he wanted to heal from his strong conditioning as a slave, but because Ayas wanted him to.

 

                                “Because I planned on it; anyway, that Three Dog guy has heard about some of the things I’ve done and he’s been very congratulatory. I’d like to thank him in person for the encouragement.”

 

                And like that, it was decided. Ayas picked up a route from a trader and they started their trek to GNR. Charon didn’t like this. He hated going through subway systems. He hated it because there were always ghouls in them, and as much as Charon understood these ghouls would never be like him, it felt painful every time a bullet shot through one of them and they released those horrifying screams. As if it was a part of himself dying instead of some insane ferocious creature. There was no peace. Even the memories of the pre-war tunnels weren’t peaceful, but filled with the hurry and rush and anger of a crowd of emotionless uncaring people crowded together; maybe ghouls weren’t so bad by comparison.

 

                Almost too soon, they were exiting the station. Ayas went through the large bag he carried with him and pulled out a laser rifle, a combat shotgun, a 10mm SMG, and a few grenades. He hid the rest of the bag in a nearby trash can, and nodded silent approval to advance.

 

                                “Why don’t you stick to one weapon, Smoothie? It can’t be easy to carry all that stuff.”

 

                                “Every day it gets easier, Charon,” Ayas said with a smile that was more smirk than usual, “And I’d rather be an adequate killer of many varieties, than an excellent killer of only one. Now let’s go, and keep alert. According to that trader, there’re super mutants here; that’s why I avoided it for so long.”

 

Charon didn’t get that statement; the Ayas he’d known thus far was a valiant foe of the mutants, bringing in their wares and weapons as loot almost daily to Underworld. Even in the Jefferson Memorial he’d killed a good deal more of them than Charon managed to. Still, Ayas seemed more comfortable with Charon there; secure in his abilities. Ayas fiddled with the settings on his laser rifle and stared over the embankment of the subway station. Charon dutifully awaited his cue.

 

                                “There’s two mutants dead ahead, but there’s also a car, so don’t go running just yet, Charon.”

 

He’d gone all serious now. While Charon couldn’t see Ayas’ face from this angle, he knew already that those wide eyes had gone slitty, the smiling lips pursed and wrinkled. He contemplated this facial transformation until his brain was shocked out of it by the sickening whistle of a laser being fired, then another right after it. The deep boom of flame striking followed soon after; indicating the target was struck.

 

                                “Hey! Muties,” Ayas screamed, waving at his two would-be opponents, “Here’s dinner! Come and fucking get it!”

 

                Charon heard their guttural screams. Ayas continued to jump until he suddenly leaped backwards and threw himself over Charon. There was a deafening boom as the car engine exploded in a mini atomic blast, throwing the two mutants into the air, and knocking the life out of them. Ayas giggled and fell backwards, letting Charon breath again. Ayas pointed above them, where the hood of aforementioned car now dangled precariously above them, undecided if it liked its new perch or wanted somewhere more subterranean.

 

                                “Gotta protect you, Charon. Can’t risk anything happening to that, uh, pretty face of yours.”

 

                Any other person, and Charon would have worn their face like a mask so they could look at their own face while they died. Even as Ayas said it, his initial inclination was to put a few bullets through his skull – just as a joke. But one little thing changed the entire meaning of Ayas’ statement. One little thing made it transform from a sarcastic knock on his ghoulish hideousness, into something more.

 

                Ayas had blushed when he said it.

 

                Now, the war was on. Two Mutants dispatched of, Ayas gave a wordless shout and charged in the direction they came from, Charon obediently following. They tore down a thin alleyway, Ayas getting five bolts into a mutant’s face before it could even react; Charon shot inches over Ayas’ head, missing the falling corpse and hitting a mutant just coming around a corner. Two more bullets and three more bolts and he fell too. Ayas strapped on his laser rifle and switched it for the shotgun. He gave a hand-motion for Charon to halt. He grabbed a piece of wood and started slamming it into the open neck wound of one of the felled mutants. Charon couldn’t make heads nor tails of this until Ayas started spearding the copious blood evenly on the board, making it shiny. Very shiny. He slowly moved the board outward and looked at the reflection in the blood.

 

                                “I can’t make out the details too well, but there’s a lot. We gotta do some precision shooting as well as some close range. Prepare yourself, ‘cause we’re gonna get injured.”

 

                Charon simply nodded, they inhaled, and charged, screaming in unison. Ayas froze on the spot and fired five shots, hitting three of the mutants in their faces, and knocking the weapons of of two other’s hands. Charon matched the precision as he got even closer, hitting carotid arteries in two of them, and shooting and severing the spinal columns of two others. The last one got its arm shot off by Ayas. They both ran again and slammed their bodies against the building; Charon looked up and realized it was an elementary school. There were about three mutants on the upper floor. Ayas tossed two grenades to Charon and took the rest. Running backwards, shotgun in one hand, grenade in the other, Ayas tossed two of them in the directions of the two mutants he’d located, while managing to shoot a would-be attacker from the side in its knee. Charon took out the other upper level mutant and finished the job on Ayas’ attacker. The building seemed secure now. They hurried cautiously down the hallway until they found the exit. The sounds coming from the other side indicated this was all but over.

 

Horror. That’s what they saw. Horror. A huge number of mutants fighting against tech-armored humans, who Charon recognized as the Brotherhood of Steel. It seemed like a losing battle. Ayas switched out for his 10mm and started firing at one of the cars near the super mutants. Success, and three of them were out. Things looked good as the two saviors of the day focused their fire on the mutants. Things looked good until they heard the sounds that indicated something horrible. With an explosive boom and ground-shaking screams, a behemoth appeared on the scene. Ayas tossed his 10mm rather elegantly into one of the trashcans near the center of the plaza, and grabbed the laser rifle. He, the brotherhood, and Charon all fired constantly at the behemoth. The horrible creature set its sight on Ayas, and started charging at him. It swung its fire hydrant sledgehammer at him and missed by a hair, knocking the laser rifle from his hand.

 

Charon knew he had to act quickly. His master’s life was the most important thing; and Ayas’ life…Ayas’ life even more so. Charon ran to Ayas’ aid, watching the behemoth carefully. The Creature struck a menacing pose and let out a wild vicious screech, preparing to deliver a death blow. Without even planning anything, Charon pulled the pin out of his last grenade and tossed it, aiming loosely at the monster’s open mouth.

 

Surprisingly, success! The boom was a horrible squelch and the behemoth capsized backwards. All of a sudden there was silence. Ayas’ heavy breathing was like a thousand explosions every exhale. They basked in the reassuring calmness and let the peace of freedom wash over them. The battle was finally over.

 

Ayas got up, gathered his three weapons, and made his way to the radio station. Charon noticed the limp Ayas was obviously trying to hide. As they got to the building, Ayas did something only he would do, Charon felt. He started counting the bodies and sniffling. Five of the Brotherhood died in the battle, two from Ayas’ own car explosion technique. He had saved a grand total of two, who were on a balcony and protected anyway. This had been a failure. Ayas had involved himself so strongly in saving these people, and he failed. Charon saw the reasoning happen in Ayas’ face as fast as those words came to mind. It tore him apart. Ayas was too good a person for the wastes. A hundred dead raiders strewn over the corpse of a dead land, and here he was, all but crying because he didn’t save five people who most likely had already lost before he got there. Trying to save the doomed from their own funeral.

 

                “You did all you could, Ayas,” Charon said in soft hushed tones, “They were doomed from the beginning. You did your very best.”

 

                “I know,” Ayas mumbled in emotionless monotone, “And that’s why I must get better. So that one day, my best can be good enough.”

 

And Ayas trudged through the corpses, up the stairs, and two the doors of GNR. Three Dog had praised Ayas many times before. Perhaps Three Dog could give him the praise he needed to feel better about his less-than-excellent luck here. Charon genuinely hoped Three Dog could do it, because he had already failed horribly.

 

This was the day that Charon was reminded he’d never be good enough. This was the day Charon realized he wasn’t the only person who thought that way. This was the day Charon decided they’d both have to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~~~~
> 
> This was based of my first experience of the GNR battle. I consistently end up accidentally skipping GNR, and thus have never done it in the right order, so that's why Miss Lyons is not present here; because she wasn't present when I played through.
> 
> I'd like to think Ayas was quite the good egg until he met Charon. When you've only got yourself to depend on, it's easier to be optimistic; but now that he has someone he wants to admire him and feel friendship with him, he's becoming slowly more critical of himself and his actions.


	4. The Wastelander's Bible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you wander the wastelands, you have to learn to see things in a bright light. Surely?
> 
> Four places, four people who want items. Four lessons to learn

                                “What does it mean to be moral?”

 

                Charon stopped in his tracks. They had been walking for eight hours without any words between them, and all of a sudden Ayas had opened with this heavy question. Charon wondered if it was rhetorical or if an answer was actually expected of him.

 

                                “I, uh…well, tha-” he stuttered aimlessly until Ayas turned around, smiling brightly.

 

                                “We’ve collected a lot of stuff in our travels so far. I have to take some things to various people around the Wastes, so that’s what we’ll be doing for now. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

                Charon simply nodded and continued to follow. They were heading north from GNR. Another two hours, and they’d just walked past Arefu. A small remainder of a shopping centre stood in the distance. As the approached, Ayas started removing boxes of Sugar Bombs from his many pockets and bags. Charon picked up the cue and started taking out the ones he had stored as well. He wasn’t sure why they were doing this, but Ayas obviously had a reason.

 

                When they arrived, Ayas made his way down to the subway station, thirty boxes of Sugar Bombs held awkwardly in his hands. Charon silently picked up the four boxes he dropped as he lopped down the stairs.

 

                As they made their way through the derelict subway, Charon realized someone was living down here. It seemed like a silly observation; obviously someone was living here. Ayas was weird, but he wasn’t going to hoarde sugar bombs in an abandoned subway. Ayas rather happily walked through a doorless doorway and shouted out a greeting to someone inside.

 

                                “Special delivery! Come and get it, Loverboys!”

 

                Charon came in behind Ayas and saw two ghouls walk up. One was heavily armored and armed, the other plainly dessed, wearing thick glasses.

 

                                “You got the stuff, I got the caps,” the geekier of the two said in a typically ghoulish raspy voice.

 

Ayas plopped the twenty-six boxes of Sugar Bombs onto the small dining table, knocking down a filled ashtray and a plastic glass in the process. Distantly, Charon added the four dropped boxes to the pile. Geeky Ghoul did a rudimentary finger count and luckily came up with the same amount. He handed over the agreed payment in caps, and started stocking the new supplies.

 

                “This is Murphy, Charon. He’s developing a more potent version of jet. Ultrajet, he calls it. Ghouls don’t get the same reaction to jet as humans do; hence his work. He uses Sugar Bombs to make it.”

 

                “You gonna tell your lackey all my secrets, Smoothskin freak?” Murphy barked, tossing an empty glass into the nearby wall.

 

                “’Cause if you are, then maybe Barrett here can do a little bit of the work he’s been dying to do.

 

Charon twitched, ready to squeeze his trigger. The wide smirk on Ayas’ face seemed reassuring, though, and he held back any retaliation beyond a stern glare.

 

                “And that armored thug over there is Murphy’s lover, Barrett. They pretend to have a professional relationship, but it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that they’re doing the dirty deed.”

 

                “You motherfucker,” Barrett snarled, fingering his weapon, “You got some fucking nerve saying bullshit like that when-”

 

                “Give it a rest, Barrett,” Murphy mumbled, “Yeah, we fuck and I love the asshole, what does it matter? Fuck off and come back when you’ve got more Sugar Bombs; we don’t do threesomes or whatever you’re into you sick fleshbag fucker.”

 

Ayas simply smiled and nodded a quiet farewell. Charon’s gaze lingered over the two ghouls, watching their dispositions. He noticed Barrett never made any effort to protect the equipment; only Murphy. He mimicked Ayas’ silent nod and turned to leave.

 

Outside, They were quiet once again. It was after they’d passed Arefu on the main road that Charon finally spoke up.

 

                “So, you dig up supplies for drug-peddling scum; how is that moral?”

 

Ayas turned to look at him while still walking, a smile on his face. Charon didn’t realize why Ayas was smiling; he figured it out later.

 

                “Good question; can you think of an answer?”

 

Was this little bastard quizzing him? Well, then it was his duty to ensure he came out on top. No short shrimpy human was going to upstage him on the grounds of morality.

 

                “I suppose everyone has to make a living; better to help them out than let them starve.”

 

                “Wrong-o!” Ayas shouted, continuing to walk down the road, “I don’t hand out supplies to every drug dealer in the wastes, and I’ve even killed my fair share.”

 

                “He’s got a lover who needs him; it’d be cruel to let them fend for themselves and possibly lose each other.”

 

                “Wrong. Consider how many sets of male and female raiders we’ve come across. You really think none of them were lovers or in some kind of relationships? Didn’t stop either of us from turning them into ashes in front of everyone else. Give up?”

 

Charon considered his options. There was no harm in admitting defeat this once.

 

                “Fine, what’s the reason?” He growled, wanting to sound angrier than he was.

 

                “He’s developing the ultrajet for ghouls. You, as one, should know how much suffering they go through, especially pre-war ghouls who’ve had to live decades upon decades. All those memories, all that sorrow, all that pain. I think that, even if it’s just a temporary and foolish one, they have earned the right to some kind of escape from that kind of torment. Deal with it when you can, escape when you need to.”

 

Charon stopped walking. He had never even considered this; he remembered looking down on all the ghouls that came into Azrukhal’s shop, begging for a share of the latest shipment of jet and psycho. He’d been trained for so long to not even consider his suffering. To ignore his pain, to enjoy it because it was all he was worth. He’d forgotten, in all this time, that in spite of that, others felt pain. He had the urge to apologize to those he’d belittled in his mind for their addictions and desires.

 

A day later, they’d continued their trek across the wastes. Heading southwest, they arrived in Girdershade just before sunset. Ayas didn’t pull out anything ahead of time, which seemed odd given his exuberance at their last drop off. He pointed out one of two huts in the little settlement, with a flickering Nuka Cola sign. As they approached, Charon felt Ayas’ hand on his shoulder.

 

                “Brave heart, Charon. This girl is special.”

 

Charon quickly learned what Ayas meant by this. As they went in, a blonde girl looked up from her Nuka Cola brand stool and lit up like a Christmas tree.

 

                “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, you’re finally back! Did you bring me my beautiful, wonderful, precious – ”

 

                “Yes, Sierra, I bought you bundles of it, but first things first. This is Charon, a very good friend of mine,” Charon would vehemently deny it, but he warmed at hearing those words, “who would love to take your special tour.”

 

                “Oh my god, that is so totally awesome! I haven’t been able to give a tour in so long! Thank you, Ayas!”

 

She ended her sentence with an ear-ripping squeak. Charon was already regretting this journey.

 

Thirty minutes later, Sierra had finally finished the grand tour of Nuka Cola history. She’d finished mainly because she’d gotten thirsty and had to start downing 5 Nuka Colas in front of them. Ayas winked at Charon and got an exaggerated eye-roll in response. It was a brave gesture on Charon’s part, because ghouls often had eyes fall out from doing this.

 

                “So, where’s the quantum? You got the quantum?” Charon recognized her giddy bounce; a drug addict needing their next assured kick. Was collecting a drug better or worse than taking it?

 

                “Yeah, I’ve got ten bottles with me, Sierra,” Ayas said, fumbling through his many bags and pockets to pull out all of his supply.

 

Sierra repeated her squeak with each successive bottle she received. A horrendously huge amount of caps crossed hands and Ayas and Charon were on their way.

 

                “That woman is sick in the head,” Charon shouted when they were far away enough, “Sick with a capital ‘v’!”

 

Ayas turned to Charon with an exaggerated head tilt and confused expression.

 

                “The ‘v’ stands for vomit, because that’s how sick she is.”

 

                “Oh, that’s funny,” Ayas said flatly, followed by a round of uninhibited giggling, “Yeah, she’s a bit off, but I think this is the right thing to do. What do you think?”

 

Round two, eh? Charon wouldn’t fail this time.

 

                “Well, it makes her happy. She’s got something to distract her from the shit in the Wastes.”

 

                “Close, but no cigar; She could be distracted from the Wastes by Ronald and his magic cock if she’d stop being so oblivious about his feelings. They might even make a nice couple, even if he is a dick.”

 

Charon shrugged, being truly stumped on this one.

 

                “Even if it’s in an odd way, she’s helping to preserve history. The governments, the Vaults, the big things will always live on as important remnants of the past; long after the wastes have become the new America and new world, they’ll still talk about the people that made the world die the first time. But something like Nuka Cola? A sugary soft drink that was so fake it survived 200 years of intense radiation and weather conditions? No one would remember that normally. But one crazy girl living under the highway collected so much memorabilia and information about the company that that knowledge can live on. And these little things are what make life rich, so I want to help her achieve her dreams and preserve the legacy of a stupid drink from centuries ago; because it’s nicer than forgetting our past.”

 

Charon just smiled and nodded. It felt odd to smile, but good to smile because of Ayas. He looked up into the foggy sunlight and was ready to march on.

 

They travelled to the Library in Arlington, to turn in pre-war books. Ayas was eager to move on, though, and as soon as they arrived they were gone.

 

                “In spite of not agreeing with all that her leader does, she has stayed loyal to both him and her original calling,” Ayas mused as they walked north, “Scribe Yearling is a shining beacon of loyalty; a far more better and sweeter person than the outcasts, who blemish a name for not meeting their standards.”

 

Two days later, they were at a weird lone cabin that Charon had never seen on any maps. Ayas pulled out a separate little pouch from everything else he had. As he unclasped it, Charon saw that it was full of bloody fingers. No questions asked, they walked inside, up the stairs, and to a woman Ayas greeted, in a deep huskier voice than usual, as Sonora.

 

                “Here is proof of my bounties, Sonora.” Ayas said, holding up his hand upright, “I vow solemnly and honestly that every offering came only from those deserving of the justice of my bullets.”

 

                “You have done well, Regulator brother. You have brought peace and justice to the Wastes, and for your service, I’ll give you a bonus on top of your normal payment.”

 

Ayas didn’t chat, didn’t smile, didn’t say anything other than a mumbled thanks. In fact, he left before even Charon could register it. Outside, Charon found Ayas sitting in the muddle grass, petting one of the Brahmin in the fields, switching from one head to the next.

 

                “And what is this place?” Charon asked plainly.

 

                “A place where people use some scale known to none but themselves to judge the moral worth of a people in constant turmoil. A raider is an evil person even if he has a wife, or maybe even kids; even if the only reason he’s a raider is to make it possible to give his family and friends what they need to survive. They decided that raider is evil because he’s a raider. There is no morality derived from those who deal in absolutes and assumptions”

 

                “So, what is the moral in this place, Ayas?” Charon knelt beside him and shared in petting the Brahmin; he ignored the creatures slight recoil at his touch.

 

                “I was hoping you could tell me, because I’ve only been doing it for the caps. I can’t think of the good behind it.”

 

                “That’s the right answer,” Charon said, smiling once more.

 

                “Huh?”

That same adorable head tilt.

 

                “You do so many things for the good of others, Ayas. It’s just as immoral to ignore one’s self as it is to ignore the wellbeing of others. It’s good to have something you do just for you.”

 

Ayas smiled and hunched forward, hugging his knees to his chin. He moved his head slightly to look intensely at Charon.

 

                “You know the best part about this past week?”

 

                “What is it, Smoothie?”

 

                “I got you to argue with me at least three times and you didn’t once apologize or look guilty over it.”

 

And like that, something snapped in Charon’s mind as he recalled each of the occasions when he and Ayas got into a morality debate and he’d given his argued opinion so freely. How had he managed to do this so easily? What was happening to him?

 

                “You ordered me to do that, Ayas.”

 

He hated himself once those words came out. He hated himself when Ayas’ smile faded and he stood up, staring at his pipboy to figure out what they’d do next. He hated himself in the night, when he stood guard at the empty caravan they found, and listened to Ayas silently cry as he slept.

 

This was the day, at the end of many days, that Charon realized what he’d become. This was the day he understood the morals of the wasteland. This was the day he realized the immorality of his selfish insistence of being a slave, regardless of how it hurt or harmed others.

 

This was the day he decided in earnest to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charon is a dummy....


	5. Disclaimer: Traumatic experiences may occur. Vault-Tec claims no responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retrieving the Satellite for GNR takes a turn south...

                Ayas announced they were going to collect the Satellite Dish for GNR Radio now. Charon nodded his agreements but said nothing. They made the long trek across the wastes, side by side, but fairly silent. Occasionally, Ayas asked some philosophical or moral question and drank in Charon’s answers with a unique and innocent attentiveness. A few days later, they were back where it had all begun. The Mall. As they ascended the steps from the station entrance in front of the Museum of History, Ayas let out a strained sigh. Tilting his head slightly, he observed in quietness the place Charon had spent years in captivity. The building seemed more imposing than it had been originally; covered in stern cracked faces and towering visages that seemed against everything.

 

                                “We’ve got to head across the super mutant territory,” Ayas muttered, pushing a fresh cell into his laser rifle, “I think we killed most of them already, but there’s always new ones.”

 

                Ayas was right on both counts. There were more mutants in the area, but not as many as there used to be. They made their way across wooden plank bridges fairly quickly, and climbed over the mountains of rubble and rebar with equal efficiency. Casually reloading their weapons and checking their mechanisms, they prepared to enter the Museum’s front door. Two mutants greeted them inside, and between the two of them were eliminated in no time. Safety guaranteed, Ayas ran over to the fallen display of the Wright Flyer I He read the placard with interest and a wide mouth.

 

                                “Wow, Charon, this is amazing. I’ve seen the planes on Rivet City, but nothing like this.”

 

                Charon smiled inwardly at Ayas’ exhilaration. These were things he’d seen so many times before the war; seeing them through fresh eyes was wonderful. Maybe this was why teachers took students to places like this? Not to bore them, but to enjoy the moments as a little kid’s eyes grew wide and they were genuinely in awe of something for the first time ever. If any of them were ghouls, Charon would have to remember to apologize to his teachers.

 

                They made their way slowly up the stairs after scouring the first floor and going through all the terminals; Charon was much better at hacking the terminals than Ayas. It wasn’t a matter of skill so much as Charon’s previous bosses forcing him to do this in case computers had anti-hacker procedures such as blowing up or activating a turret or robot. Ayas had the same interest in each display they came across. He tutted at the tragic story of the U.S.S. Ebon Atoll’s demise. He looked at each of the frames holding an image of an overlooked inventor as he read their name and invention, regardless of the fact that the pictures in the frames had disintegrated over the years.

 

                                “I wonder what they looked like. I bet they looked like the things they invented,” Ayas mumbled aimlessly.

 

                As they prepared to cross over to the door on the other side of the balcony, they both realized their clear passage was blocked by a huge mountain of rubble. Charon started heading down a hallway to the left. Ayas read the signs and let out a faint gasp.

 

                                “Charon, let’s try to walk around this rubble; I don’t think that goes to the other side.”

 

                                “Of course it does, Smoothie. I saw the other door when we came in.”

 

                                “Charon, please. I don’t want to go in there.”

 

                Why was there so much fear in his voice? Charon was hesitant to take charge, but knew he couldn’t let Ayas try what he wanted to try.

 

                                “This is the only possible way to get over there, Ayas. Just follow me.”

 

                In silence, Ayas nodded his head and slowly, mechanically made his way into the Vault Tour. There was a loud snap, and a muffled voice came through a carelessly hidden speaker. Charon didn’t even register it, but this made Ayas jump and shriek with genuine terror. The second switch flipped and Ayas shrieked again. He was visibly shaking and shuddering. Charon started to feel guilty about his insistence they come here. Ayas ran his hand over the cogs in the vault entrance, mumbling in less than a whisper as he traced the groves and cracks with a finger.

 

                                “Amaya…Butch…Sorry, so sorry.”

                Another shriek as the vault’s alarm system went off. A weaker one as the next switch and speaker flicked on. The doors automatically opened and Ayas reacted a little less. Then out came another voice. Ayas ignored what it said and just slammed his body repeatedly into the speaker, shouting in a weird monotone.

 

                                “Shut up, Overseer. Shut up you life-ruining scum!”

 

Blood was staining the torn clothe on Ayas’ shoulder when he finished. He didn’t wince or let Charon nurse him. He just continued on. The next voice said something about the floors, but Ayas just said something about radroaches and protecting ‘your’ mother. Tears were streaming down his face now. Charon had to keep his resolve, but it was getting harder. Ayas was walking irregularly and quickly. Without watching where he was going he tripped over a fallen bollard and fell headfirst into a mop bucket. The sound of cracking plastic echoed in the metal hallway. Ayas was whimpering and cringing and scrambling. He pulled his body off the plastic bin, only to fall again into a crumpled skeleton.

 

                Making loud and primal noises of fear and crazed frenzy, Ayas pulled himself up and slammed against the wall opposite him. Charon noticed more blood on the plastic remains of the bin. Just as Ayas seemed to calm, he took a step forward and the next voice went off.

 

                                “Mom’s will love our…”                                 “Stop lying! You motherfucking liars! God damnit, just shut up, shut up, shut up!”

 

                He was in full panic now, and running. The next switch flipped and a film started showing.

 

                                “The G.O.A.T. I’m so sorry, dad. I’m so sorry I didn’t get the job you wanted. I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me. I’ll do better, please. I can’t…”

 

                He was crumpling. Dragging himself up the stairs by his finger tips. The next speaker started to talk, but Ayas interrupted it by shooting it. There was another vault door ahead of them. Ayas started pulling himself shakily up to his feet, his knees quivering under his own weight.

 

                                “Dad! Dad! If you leave me again I…I’ll fucking kill you, you goddamn shitstain!”

 

                Ayas shakily lifted his laser rifle in the air and shot wildly at the door. Charon had to stop him.

 

                It was too late. One of the laser bolts ricocheted off the metal and came back at Ayas. Without any change to think, Charon ran forward and violent slammed Ayas’ head into the metal door frame; knocking him unconscious and out of the way of the fire. Charon, however, was directly in line.

 

                Ayas groggily opened his eyes. He was naked; mostly naked, at any rate. He was in a strange bed, and a large portion of his body was covered in tightly wound bandaging. He tried to regain focus and tried to pull himself up so he could sit upright. Just that action alone made it feel as if his organs had fallen out; he decided to stay lying down. He apparently made some form of noise, because shortly after this, the wooden door near him opened and in walked Charon.

 

                                “You’re finally awake, kid. How’re you feeling?”

 

                                “Where are we, Charon?” Ayas mumbled, his lungs heavy and dusty, unable to put the effort into making a nice pretty voice.

 

                                “I found a secret room in the museum. I had to drag you here unconscious; I killed all the super mutants here, got the satellite dish and found medical supplies to tend to you. It wasn’t any problem.”

 

                Ayas rubbed his hand idly over the bandaging, feeling dry cloth somewhere and wet sticky red cloth elsewhere.

 

                                “What happened to me, Charon?” He asked blankly, staring at his red-stained fingers.

 

                                “You had a breakdown. The vault thing shook up something inside of you and it wasn’t good. You almost shot yourself…erm, not in that way, but you were shooting solid metal and there was bounce-back.”

 

                Ayas just stared into the distance, barely focusing.

 

                                “Is that right? The vault. The vaults always seem to have that effect on me. They’re horrible places where horrible things happen. They did experiments on people, you know? Without consent. I went to one where they cloned the leader repeatedly; the clones went crazy and started killing everyone. It was a nightmare. Another I went to was programming its citizens with sound waves; they all gradually went crazy and murderous. The worst thing was that some kept diaries and you could see it plain as day, how they deteriorated. Even our own vault was an experiment; that’s why we were in there for so long.

 

“They represent nothing but evil to me now; that’s why I keep putting 112 off, Charon. I’m scared. I’m so scared I’ll go there and just find more horrors, more things that disgust and terrify me. Things that make me hate in ways I shouldn’t.”

               

                Charon was stumbled by this outpouring. Ayas had revealed so much of his fears and past and himself in this one moment that Charon was – for the first time in a long time – having trouble seeing his master as a master. Ayas was damaged; he hid it so well behind smiles and innocence and optimism, but the wasteland had gotten to him. It had broken the functions of his brain and would continue to do so. How much would it succeed? How much of his self would Ayas lose? Charon felt terrified at the notion.

 

                                “Ayas, I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, no matter what. Don’t be afraid.”

 

                                “Charon, you’re an excellent friend,” Ayas sighed with his trademark smile, his eyes closing as grogginess seemed to fall over him, “and I know you care about me in a special way. Do you know how?”

 

                                “How,” Charon was reluctant to ask and get the response, the entire conversation being to improper for their arrangement, “do you know that?”

 

                                “Because you didn’t once call me smoothie during any of this.”

 

                Charon felt certain he’d be blushing if he had any blood flow or skin or color. He’d let Ayas sleep.

 

                                “Charon, I like the helmet, by the way, it suits you.”

 

                                “I found some spare armor in one of the rooms. Figured I should upgrade,” Charon said, trying to sound boastful.

 

                Ayas didn’t respond, instead falling asleep and resting. Charon took off the helmet and felt the spongy soft area where the laser had hit him. It was heavy damage. The kind of damage a stimpack would struggle to fix on a human, never mind a ghoul. He put a few leftover rags from the bandaging on it and pulled the helmet back on over it. The helmet completely covered the wound. Charon swore to himself he’d never take it off in front of Ayas. He’d never let him see that wound.

 

Charon decided he wouldn’t tell Ayas many things. He wouldn’t tell him they spent four weeks in the museum while Ayas drifted in and out of consciousness. He wouldn’t tell Ayas about how critical his condition was, and how Charon almost cried. He wouldn’t tell him any of it; nor would he let him tell anyone that it was he who got the dish rather than Ayas. This should always be Ayas’ victory. He needed the victories more than Charon ever would.

 

It was another two days until Ayas woke up and felt good enough to move. They left the museum, walked to the Washington Monument, installed the dish, and left with barely a word spoken. They continued on their way through the wastes, planning things out for their next adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time writing this chapter. It was a very abstract thing based more on me than my characters. The first time I went into the Museum of Tech, the Vault tour was extremely tense and horrifying; not just because of the fact that I was expecting a super mutant to pop up around the corner at any time, but because I felt constantly reminded that the vaults were evil things, torturing their citizens who didn't have the luck to be in a "control" vault. Seeing it presented to the public in such a saccharine 50's "Home of the future" way was incredibly unnerving and nauseating for me. It caused so many strong emotions that ultimately came through in this chapter, but not entirely because I'd done a lot more between then and when I got to writing this.
> 
> What's more, even though I did decide early on I wanted Ayas to go in this direction, it was hard to think of a way to explore the degradation in this story. I'm hoping it comes through okay.


	6. Humpty Dumpty and His Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayas decides to finish his business at Tenpenny Tower, showing a side of himself Charon isn't comfortable with.

                                “Once upon a time, there was a group of humans and a group of ghouls. The ghouls wanted to live with the humans in comfort and security, but the humans were scared of the ghouls and felt they’d earned the right to have their comfort to themselves. They wanted to pretend the wastes didn’t exist. Then, a boy appeared who wished to broker peace. The ghouls explained that they just wanted a home, and the humans explained their views. The boy had decisions to make…help both? Or help the humans alone? Or help the ghouls alone.”

 

                                “And what did he choose?” Charon Asked, staring intently at Ayas while he told his tale as they walked.

 

                                “We’re about to find out,” Ayas mumbled.

 

                Charon turned to look where they were heading. Standing, like a pillar in a land of dust and ash, was Tenpenny Tower. Their approach halted, and Ayas rummaged through his baggage to pull out some clothing and a helmet for Charon.

 

                                “Until the situation is finalized, Charon, I think it’d be better if we didn’t let anyone know you’re a ghoul,” Ayas explained with an obvious blush of embarrassment as he handed the equipment to Charon.

 

                Charon understood the reasoning and accepted it entirely, but still felt compelled to voice his irritation at the general feeling of this situation. After all, wasn’t he under command to rebel? The moral pang of guilt in his deceptive actions resounded inside him, but did not override his desire to obey, even if it was a false obedience.

 

                                “Any other smoothskin did this to me, I’d crush their skull like a nuka-cola bottle. Count yourself lucky, Smoothie.”

 

                Ayas merely smirked and mock-bowed in feigned gratitude. There was an understanding between them, and the joke was innocent. Ayas and the well-covered Ghoul approached the gate. With a serious and morbid expression on his face, Ayas punched the intercom button, which buzzed to life as a voice echoed though the device.

 

                                “Yeah, who is it? Not that fucking ass ghoul again, is it?”

 

                                “Not exactly,” Ayas said in a voice deeper and harsher than his normal voice, “it’s the guy who so kindly offered to fix this problem for you guys; maybe you’d rather I not help?”

 

                                “All right, all right, keep calm, man. I’ll let you in.”

 

                Ayas’ stern face broke and he winked at Charon. As soon as it was gone it returned and the two made their way into the walled-in yard of Tenpenny Tower. Stay cool was the internal whisper they both shared; one rule not to be broken. A voice shot out that froze them in their tracks.

 

                                “Wait a minute,” Chief Gustavo said in a loud piercing tone, “Your friend here smells funny. A little stale.”

 

                Charon tensed and prepared for war, but Ayas remained calm. He turned with a dry smile and approached Gustavo slowly, speaking as he took step after step, closing the distance between them.

 

                                “Well of course he does; you see, you had a bit of a deathclaw problem near here. We just took care of it; free of charge. Mind you their guts start smelling pretty soon. I think Tenpenny should be told we’ll need a room with running water; a bath would be just swell.”

 

                Gustavo silently nodded and grumbled obscenities to himself. The elimination of these ghouls was too important to be telling this upstart youth what he really thought of him. Ayas winked to Charon and they made their way inside.

 

 

***

 

                Ayas stripped his clothes and dunked a towel into the bucket of hot water. It was still slightly radioactive and stung as he sponged it across his lithe muscles and tanned skin, but it felt so much softer and better than the water elsewhere. Tenpenny had some kind of secret supply of pure water he was mixing into the normal water – it was the only explanation. In a somewhat absentminded moment, Ayas called out to Charon. It wasn’t until he felt the spongy cold hands on his shoulders that it fully came to him that he’d done this.

 

                                “What do you need of me, Ayas?” Charon asked, in a softer more delicate tone than he’d ever used.

 

                                “I, uh, was just wondering if you’d help me clean my back. It’s hard to reach.”

 

                It wasn’t a lie; whatever activities had bulked up his frame since leaving the vault, they’d especially been kind to his lats, making his slim body somewhat oddly proportions with the wide wings of back muscles spread behind him. Charon didn’t say anything and simply took the towel and because rubbing and dabbing various parts of Ayas’ back. The atmosphere was warmer than the water, and Ayas felt he had to do something to cool it down.

 

                                “So, Charon, I wanted you to stick around like a bodyguard; strong silent type. You listen while I talk to the residents and see what they’d think of the ghouls moving in, and then we can decide what to do from there.” 

 

                                “Sounds good, Smoothie. But what if they say no?”

 

                The towel was in the middle of Ayas’ back now, pushing into the crevice between his traps.

 

                                “Roy had a plan that involved unlocking the basement levels, releasing ferals into the hotel. It’s the last option I’ll consider.”

 

                The towel rubbed across Ayas’ lower back; he felt Charon’s fingertips tingle down the sides of his stomach.

 

                                “This Roy Philips sounds like a class-A asshole,” Charon mumbled, a hint of irritation in his voice, but not enough to remove the soft dulcet tones he’d taken on.

 

                                “He is, but the others are good, and they do deserve a chance to live somewhere other than underground. I understand it, though. He’s suffered. Some lash out like this. I don’t really blame him.”

 

                The towel slid lower down, two strong hands pressing lightly against his butt cheeks, the thumbs softly pushing the wet hot towel down his…

 

                                “Thanks, Charon. That’s enough. The steam in here is getting to me. You bathe and then we can get started.”

 

                Ayas wished the steam was causing this, but it wasn’t. The blushing tint to his face was very much something caused by none other than Charon. This couldn’t be happening, could it? They were just friends, weren’t they? Ayas ran a hand through his long dark hair and adjourned to one of the bedrooms, lying in the bed naked, apart from a small useless towel draped over his unmentionables.

 

***

 

                Charon had managed to find some old scented soaps among the gallimaufry of old world trinkets and brick-a-brack lining the shelves of the room. Ayas approved of the find and complimented Charon on his pleasant odour. In the back of his mind, though, he missed the vague smell of decay. It had a uniquely reassuring quality to it. Nonetheless, this was business time.

 

                                “Right, we’ll start with the upper echelons first. That means the Cheng family. Elderly married couple; he sees himself as a social linchpin, she’s just tired of him going on about his committees all the time. It’s cute.”

 

                Charon nodded, and donned his disguise. Now, the two of them descended the stairs and made their way for the Federalist Lounge, where Tiffany Cheng was frequently found. Ayas nodded in her direction and approached, sitting in the chair opposite her. Charon had heightened hearing so didn’t need to get close at all. He got closer anyway; it gave him a clearer view.

 

                                “Mrs. Cheng,” Ayas started in a sweet and polite voice, “I’ve been having discussions, and I’m wondering how you’d feel about those ghouls moving in. Please be honest. Would you mind them as neighbours?”

 

                                “Oh, I don’t know. They’re so deformed and scary looking; They’d probably be mean and cruel.”

 

                                “Well, I’ve met them,” Ayas said, a tiny miniscule twitch in his eye betraying the following words – but only to Charon, “and all of them seem very friendly; they just want a home.”

 

                                “Well, I’d be willing to give it a try, if you’re sure. I keep to myself anyway, so what are more neighbours to me? I’d be happy to give the okay for your sake, young man.”

 

                Ayas smiled, sad a very hearty thank you, and stood up from his chair. A tiny nod signaled his success to Charon. One down. Ayas then turned his attention to the corner, where the next important resident was. Ayas seemed to know him.                                 “Hi, Michael. Here’s that drink I promised you,” Ayas said brightly as he handed over a beer he’d had concealed. The scruffy man took it gladly and drank it even more gladly.

 

                                “I’ll bet you heard me talking to Mrs. Cheng, so I’ll cut to the chase. How do you feel about the ghouls?”

 

                                “I’ve heard stories about them eating brains and whatnot. Not exactly appetizing.”

 

                                “These ghouls are perfectly civilized. True bastions of refinement, or at least as much as they can be without the surroundings to match.”

 

                                “As long as they don’t bother me,” Michael grumbled in a slightly slurred voice, “I don’t care. I’ll let ‘em in.”

 

                Ayas nodded a thanks and got up, another beer laying where he had sat. He passed a seruptitious wink to Charon, and they left the Lounge.

 

                                “You gonna get them all drunk, Smoothie?” Charon barked in hushed tones.

 

                                “Just him. It’s fun,” Ayas responded, tongue sticking out playfully.

 

                Without paying attention, Ayas walked right into a woman. His sudden recomposure indicated she was another target.

 

                                “Sarah Lancashire, I’ve been looking all over for you, sweetheart,” He said in an ashy romantic voice; a voice that instantly irritated Charon.

 

                                “Well, this is a surprise, Alas. I didn’t think you even noticed innocent little me.”

 

                                “It’s Ayas, and of course I notice you; it’d be impossible not to. Look, I’m in a tight bind and I need you to do a tiny favour for me; the kind of favour I can repay any way you want me to. Those ghouls would really like to move in…”

 

                                “Ugh,” Sarah spat, pushing Ayas away from her, “I’ve come too far to share my digs with those rot-sacks!”

 

                                “They’re not bad, though; not in the slightest. Come on, Sarah!”

 

                                “If they’re not bad, then you can go live with them in their filthy tunnels. This place is for civilized humans only!”

 

                Charon caught the glint of hatred in Ayas’ eye; something he’d seen rarely and only in battle typically. The clenched fist making the veins in his forearms swell and push against his skin. He calmed, though, and narrowed his eyes, stepped closer, so his face was right in hers.

 

                                “This is happening, you sick bigoted bitch, regardless of what you think. Accept it, or get the fuck out.”

 

                She stepped back, gasping. She, like Ayas, was tougher stock, however, and she quickly regained her composure.

 

                                “Fine with me, I’ll live upstairs with Burke; he never comes here anyway. I’ll even have my food sent up. I’ll never see you or your rotten scum!”

 

                She stormed off, leaving the two awkwardly standing there. Ayas shook his head and sighed audibly. Next, they went to talk to the various merchants in the building. The Doctor and Margaret, the local cook, were worried about hygiene issues, but once that was settled they accepted the prospect. They others weren’t so amenable, and when they’d finished both Lydia and Anthony had left the building in a huff. Ayas made a point to check their shoes; he wanted to be able to recognize their footprints. Charon didn’t fully understand why.

 

Next up was the unhappily married couple, the Wellingtons. Ayas pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and noted that this was his secret weapon. Charon leaned against the wall opposite their room and watched Ayas gingerly hand the paper to Millicent, noting the choked gasps of her husband, Edgar.

 

                “Oh my god. Edgar, you wrote this. You wrote this?! You fucked her? How can this be? I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and I’ll kill her! This can’t be real!”

 

Charon couldn’t even find the time to react to this. In a flash, Millicent pulled out a 10mm pistol and shot her husband once, twice, three times, four times. Charon saw the crumpled body fall to the floor, the lovely suit he wore now tattered and read. He heard the pacing of high-heeled shoes, and then more gunshots as Millicent ensured she had finished the job. Then she very calmly exited the room, returned to the lobby, and went up the elevator. Ayas and Charon followed her at a safe distance all the way. They followed her into Mr. Burke’s apartment, and watched as she shot Susan several times. Then, she fell limp. Ayas approached.

 

                “I loved that stupid asshole,” she gasped through sobs, “I loved him. Fuck it all to the wasteland, I still love him! What more is there? I’m lost now. I can’t stay here.”

 

And she silently left. Presumably not just the room, but the tower as well.

 

Charon wanted to say something, but Ayas pulled him away too fast. They ended up back on the residential floor, this time in a very eclectic and cluttered room accented by a mailbox outside of it. Inside, an old man with a familiar weapon was seemingly waiting for them.

 

                “Herbert ‘Daring’ Dashwood!” Ayas shouted out, giving the old man a tight embrace.

 

                “Haha, Ayas. You’re back at last. And who’s your ghoul friend?”

 

Charon recoiled at the word ghoul, but then it hit him. Herbert Dashwood. The man from the radio. The ghoul-lover. No wonder he recognized his true identity so easily.

 

                “Shh, they don’t know, Herbert,” Ayas muttered, “But I’ve got them all to agree. You’re the last voice of authority here. You make or break this deal."

 

Mr. Dashwood stepped back and feigned deep contemplation, as if he were weighing the negatives and positives.

 

                “Well, I think I’m okay with it,” He finally said, causing both of his eager audiences to unexpectedly sigh loudly with relief.

 

Ayas turned around to face Charon and smiled. He put his hand on the tall ghoul’s shoulders and started into his milky eyes intently.

 

                “We’ll get some sleep to-night, and let Tenpenny know in the morning.

 

***

 

 

                                “Ayas,” Charon mumbled, making sure the human wasn’t asleep, “Can we talk?”

 

                Ayas pulled himself upright in the bed, patting the unused side. This must be serious, Charon was calling him Ayas.

 

                                “What is it, Charon? You’ve seemed preoccupied for a while.”

 

                                “Why did you do that to the Wellingtons, Ayas? Ruin their marriage? What did that do to the plan?”

 

                Ayas sighed and leaned back, propping himself against the soft pillow. He tilted slightly and looked deeply at Charon.

 

                                “Her husband is the most bigoted anti-ghoul person here; he’d kill them as soon as look at them. There was no way I’d ever get him to agree to this; even if I was the most charismatic person on the planet. Susan was also a huge bigot, and sooner or later she’d worm her way into Tenpenny’s mind and get him to do whatever she wanted. Millicent…well, she was just miserable. Her husband hated her, she was lonely. I felt telling the truth would free her. And it did; advantageously.”

 

                Charon sat in silence, absorbing the details.

 

                                “I was worried I’d have to kill them,” Ayas mumbled nonchalantly, causing a jolt in Charon.

 

                                “You would have killed them?”

 

                Ayas smiled and winked.

 

                                “Not meanly, but in their sleep. Those ghouls deserve not just a chance, but happiness. If the bigots had stayed here, they’d have only brought along a new kind of misery.”

 

                The balance always tipped; it never stalled. Charon contemplated all the elements of this conundrum. There were still more issues he didn’t yet know of; and still more plans Ayas had put aside in his head. The two slept in silence on the bed.

 

                It was morning when Charon’s eyes groggily opened and he saw Ayas with a genuine warm smile on his face, sleeping soundly cuddled against Charon’s chest, an arm drapping across to his opposite shoulder. Charon pretened to still be asleep, and enjoyed the contact; how strongly he missed the touch of another. He hadn’t felt it in such a long time.

 

How long now? Did it matter? The past melts away day by day, and soon won’t even exist; why not enjoy the now?

 

***

 

 

                                “Tenpenny, they’ve all agreed,” Ayas announced triumphantly, “by your word, the ghouls can move in.”

 

                                “Well, confound it boy, I didn’t expect you to have the fight in you. Impressive is what it is. I’ll oblige you and let Roy and his gang move in; first sign of trouble though, and they get it.”

 

                Ayas nodded and bowed respectfully. Charon noticed him scanning the horizon, something catching his eye. Charon tried to figure out what Ayas was eyeing, but couldn’t follow his gaze.

 

                                “How about we celebrate with some respectful shooting, Alistair?”

 

                                “Is there any game out there?” The old man asked, grabbing firmly on his sniper rifle.

 

                                “Oh, sure there is,” Ayas responded, pulling out his own sniper rifle, “sure there is.”

 

                It was then that Charon spotted it; two dirty grungy very out-of-place people cowering behind a car near the Rob Co. factory. The merchants from the Tower. He weighed all his options and actions as Ayas started to aim; could he stop this? It would be against his code as a slave. Maybe this was a test, though? Something to force him to break his ingrained slave mindset and act for good?

 

                Just as Charon came to a conclusion, he heard the sound of the rifle firing. Just as he reacted, he heard the sound of the car’s fission motor alighting. Just as he realized what would happen, he heard the explosion and the screams of the two merchants down below, as they were blown apart, cast in flame, and the life melted from them slowly and painfully. Charon was speechless. So speechless, in fact, he didn’t even register when Ayas quickly lifted his rifle, aimed it and Tenpenny, and fired two rounds right into the old man’s head. The first decapitating him, the second sending his corpse flying over the railing to the ground below.

 

                                “That takes care of that. Justice has been served,” Ayas mumbled, “dirty justice, but the best one available. The bigots have died, the evil man is dead, but I can’t kill Roy.”

 

                                “You would have?” Charon choked?

 

                                “In a heartbeat. Roy is just as sick and twisted and vile as the worst of these people; but the others depend on him. Those ghouls will be lost without him. No one will miss these.

 

                As he left the balcony, Ayas purposely and vehemently crushed pieces of Alistair Tenpenny’s head beneath his boots. Charon simply watched, and wondered what the Wasteland was doing to this boy.

 

This was the day Charon became afraid. Not of his master, but of what his master would become if he didn’t help him remember the things that made him human. This was the day Charon vowed in earnest to change. For the sake of Ayas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lengthy delay. Family health issues and school postponed this; managed to get it done, though, and I also had an explosion of inspiration for some other writing as well - the kind that has more potential to get published.


	7. Playing House

“Back up, Charon! Get away from that car!”

Seconds of salvation; Charon evaded the explosion by inches. Ayas made a mental note to get thanks out of the ghoul one way or another. He lifted his sniper rifle over the fence, glanced into the sight and fired two rounds. A scream issued out from the crazed man in the distance, but the following gunfire in response made it clear that he was still alive. Ayas opened his bag and flung weapons out of it, settling on the weird-shaped one they’d found near a crash site. He aimed it at their assailant, exhaled deeply, and fired.

A scream echoed through the abandoned town and Charon saw the shadowed body fall from the broken down shell of a building; it hit the ground with a sickening splat, the head snapping off the body and rolling towards them, hitting a landmine.

Ayas jumped forward and deactivated the mine seconds before it went off. Standing upright for the first time in hours, he stretched out and let out a loud groan of satisfaction. Arms over his head, he turned to smile at Charon, beads of sweat dripping down his face.

“Well, that crazy fucker is taken care of once and for all; let’s break into one of the houses and see what’s here.”

Charon nodded but stayed silent; this had been happening a lot recently. The ‘superheroes’ had been the first case, and others still; now Ayas had killed the crazed sniper of the town of Minefield. It wasn’t a bad thing, but the bloodshed recently had been less about survival and more about something else. It was worrisome.

There ultimately was no need to break into the houses; the crazed man had keys to all of them. The one they chose to stay in had the name Gillian roughly hewn on the mailbox outside. Ayas growled under his breath, and though he said nothing, Charon knew why he had so much hate in him; the name was recent. Inside, they came against an onslaught of radroaches, but it was short easy work. Ayas began exploring the house. Charon gathered up food and equipment; Ayas was the one who needed to eat, but he always forgot to grab this stuff. Charon looked at old scraps of paper with random writing on them. Some were obviously pre-war, like shopping lists. One was more recent. He held it up to the faint light trickling in from the boarded up windows, squinting to read the frantically scrawled words.

“Help, he’s locked us in; we’re scared, we’re hungry. The baby. Oh my god, the baby. Please, whoever reads this, you have to help us.” 

Violent echoes of pounding and screaming ripped through the house, startling Charon. He ran back into the main room and up the stairs; he found Ayas tearing into the walls, screaming with tears running down his face. Charon grabbed the boy and held him tightly, squeezing him, holding on so tight it must have hurt; he held him until the screams stopped. It had grown dark outside.

In the blue flickering light of Ayas’ Pip Boy, they laid there on ther ground, unmoving; silent. Finally, Ayas spoke.

“Why do people do things like this? This was a living vibrant family until that man locked them up. They starved and died at the hands of vile insects. And he did it. Why? Why is this world so disgusting?”

Charon stared off into the blackness ahead of them. He hoped an answer would emerge from the nothingness.

“People lose themselves in the darkness, Ayas. They fall so far into suffering and anxiety that they never find a way back from it. And then anything is possible. These people have no one to hold them up when they fall, no one to pull them back into the light.”

Ayas let out a sigh. He mumbled something Charon couldn’t understand. They stayed there, in the hall, in the dark, tightly embraced in each other. Ayas slept, and Charon thought.

The morning light pieced his rotting eyelids like burning swords of embers. Charon pulled himself up and looked around him. Ayas was gone. He went down the stairs and found Ayas’ power armour empty and discarded on the sofa. He flung open the door and started to shout Ayas’ name; then he say Ayas. Across the way, in the little park, Ayas stood at the top of the slide, wearing nothing but a pair of tattered stained denim pants. He tilted his head to the direction of the noise and waved to Charon, a strong veined arm catching the light to reveal its ripples and definition.

Ayas came over with a smile, pushing hair from his forehead.

“This place is paradise, Charon. No one comes here ‘cause of old crazy. Even the wildlife is scared of him. We can stay here for a few days until news of his death gets out.”

“And what do you propose we do here?” Charon asked, perplexed by Ayas’ sudden change in mood.

“Whatever we want,” he responded with a playful expression on his face.

They climbed the Sniper’s fortress and looked down on the little town. Ayas winked at Charon and pulled out his .44 magnum; aiming carefully at the cars in the far distance he shot each of them right in the motor. The explosions occurred shortly later, lighting up the town in a brilliant glow of flame. Charon almost hated to admit it, but it was a beautiful sight. Peaceful, in a way.

They spent the rest of the day blowing things up; actually having fun. As night came creeping up again, they broken into another house, this time one marked Zane. Ayas was calmer when he found the bodies. Not much, but calmer. Charon made Ayas close his eyes while he cleared them away and put them somewhere unseeable. They shared the queen-sized bed, staring at each other through the night.

“Charon, how did you happen?”

“What sort of question is that, smoothie?”

“You’re odd to me; I wish I knew more about you. How did you become a slave?”

This. This had finally come up. Charon twitched inside himself; if anyone else had asked this question, how badly would he have hurt them?

“It was before the war; someone hurt me very badly when I was young. He broke everything in me until I was hollow. He made me a slave; I don’t know any other way to be.”

Ayas was silent. Charon was silent; they could barely see each other. Charon heard the ancient mattress shuffle and creak, then he felt two moist lips on his cheek. This was followed by a disembodied chuckle.

“You’ do know another way to be; you’ve been it. You’re my friend.”

They spent three more days in Minefield; then molerats finally started overtaking the town. As soon as monsters appeared, Ayas put his power armour back on and discarded the old jeans.

That was the day Charon learned he was getting better. That was the day Charon felt wanted. That was the day Charon’s dead heart felt warm for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I got really tied up with classes this semester. Maths and Anatomy and Physiology; I had no time to play, and thus no time to write for this.
> 
> This is a short chapter, because while I had it planned since the beginning, I forgot some things; but I still wrote it because it was important to what comes next.


End file.
